Unchanged
by stothep
Summary: What if . . . we all just pretend I didn't really write this, mmmkay?


**A/N: I'm sorry.**

**Unchanged**

Edward's knee started tapping a frenetic beat as he watched the tiles roll over on the television screen. R . . S . . T . . L . . N . . and, finally, E.

_Now, if only this fool will choose wisely . . . NO! Q? Who picks Q? Idiot! Everyone knows that statistically there are not enough words containing the letter Q to make it an appropriate selection given the number of choices!_

Irritated, he stopped watching the game show, no longer caring if Ellen the small animal veterinarian from Duluth won the Honda Accord. Wheel was almost over, which meant it was almost six-thirty, which meant it was almost Bella's bedtime . . .

He cut his eyes toward her La-Z-Boy, hardly daring to hope that tonight . . . maybe . . . possibly . .

His hopes were dashed as he gazed upon his bride of sixty-four years. Her head was tipped back, the silver of her hair gleaming against the brown afghan folded over the chair. Her eyelids had closed, only the faint darkness of her thinning eyelashes distinguishing their rims from the myriad lines and folds etched into her face. Her jaw was slack and the tiniest thread of drool seeped from one corner of her mouth, meandering down her chin.

He smiled a gentle smile. She was as beautiful to him as she'd been that first day in Biology class. His heart swelled with love as he rose soundlessly from his matching recliner, careful not to rattle the wood-beaded seat cover Bella had given him as a gift years ago. She'd insisted that sitting in it would feel just like getting a massage. He'd never let on that every time he sat down he cracked another bead. Every night, after he'd tucked her in, he took the Dustbuster down from the wall in the kitchen and vacuumed up the pieces.

Bella must have lowered her reading glasses before she had fallen asleep, as they hung from their multicolored yarn lanyard around her neck, but her gnarled hands still clutched the most recent issue of Reader's Digest. He eased it from her grip and placed it on the table between their chairs. She didn't stir as he slid his arms under her, thankful that she'd chosen her thickest flannel gown tonight, as it was unlikely she could feel the chill of his skin through the heavy material. Lifting her effortlessly from the chair, he made his way up the stairs toward their bedroom. Five cats wove around his ankles, crying pitifully for attention. He ignored them. He'd fed them each a can right after Days of Our Lives. Bella grumbled that Fancy Feast was too expensive. They ate dry food at night.

Toeing open the door, he left the light off as he walked to their bed. Cradling her to his chest to free one of his arms, he pulled back the duvet. And then he pulled back the quilt. And then he pulled back the electric blanket. And then he pulled back the sheet. And then he deposited her, gently, on her side of the mattress. Out of habit, he checked to make sure her Sleep Number was still dialed to "35" just like she liked it.

He bent over her slight form, pressing his lips to her temple. She smelled of talcum powder. She used to smell like strawberries.

He stood over her, his eyes as hungry for her form as always. The tangible current still connected them, all but visible between their bodies, though over the years it had faded from an electric surge to something resembling the dull warmth of the space heater he positioned near Bella's feet on particularly cold days. Tonight he willed it to spark – to leap across the space and infuse his lover with some semblance of her former ardor.

Her eyes fluttered open and he was instantly filled with remorse. She needed to sleep; needed her rest. In the back of . . . somewhere in him, though, he felt a flicker of selfish hope. Maybe . . .

She blinked several times before her eyes could focus on him.

"Edward?"

"Yes, my love?"

Her lips, nearly colorless now, curved into a thin smile. He recognized it as the one she used to use to lure him to her side when she wanted his most intimate caresses. She reached one thin arm toward him, clasping his hand and tugging him, feebly, toward her. He turned to sit next to her on the bed but she kept pulling until he lowered his mouth to hers. She pressed into the kiss as she had for the last six decades. He sighed into her mouth, realizing with a thrill that 'maybe' was looking more like 'probably.'

She moaned as his hand ghosted over her flannel-shrouded figure. He increased the pressure, encouraged by her response. Trailing one hand down to her bony ankles, he gathered her nightgown in his fingers and drew it up her body, using his other hand to shift her around until he could pull the article all the way over her head.

The moonlight shining through the window illuminated the elderly woman lying before him. His hands returned to her flesh, reacquainting themselves with a body rarely explored of late.

Fingers forever seventeen coasted up legs webbed with varicose veins, mocking reminders that the blood he had spent a lifetime refusing was now coursing less easily through his lover's fragile limbs.

The smooth, pale skin of his hands fairly glowed in the lunar luminescence. Bella's hands, reaching for him, traveling up his arms to pull him closer, were spotted with signs of age. Her skin was paper-thin and nearly translucent.

She clutched at him, her eyes feverishly bright in his heightened vision. A small keening sound issued from her as his hands swept over the loose skin of her stomach to cup her breasts. The distance they had to travel was not as great as it had been years ago. Gravity had not been kind.

From the way her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his arm, he knew she was anxious for him to proceed. He lowered a hand to her hip, so much wider after all this time despite never having spread for childbirth. His fingers hooked the waistband of her Depends and pulled at them. She was so wet. That used to mean something entirely different.

Bella stopped him before he could situate himself delicately between her legs and he looked up to find her blushing. The effect was less rosy under ashen, withered skin than it had been below the peach glow of youth. He raised an eyebrow in concern.

She lowered her eyes, pushing at him now until he rose to stand next to her. He waited, unsure of her intentions. A seed of disappointment threatened to take root within him. Before it could blossom into the bitterness he fought every day, he forced himself to focus on his wife. Her needs. Her desires.

Hesitantly, she raised her hand to her mouth. He watched, tenderness filling his gaze, as she removed her dentures. Reaching toward the nightstand next to the bed, she waited while he nudged last night's water glass within her reach. She deposited her false teeth in the liquid and her hand traveled to his fly, shaking with both nerves and the ravages of time. He moved to help her, freeing himself and stepping out of his pants.

Her hand, soft and dry, found him underneath his shirt tail. She wrapped arthritic fingers around his length, gasping when it twitched in her grasp. She leaned toward him and he stepped closer, supporting her head with his hands. She looked up at him then.

Her eyes were rheumy and faded, but the look in them was the same as it had always been. He saw her love for him. It would remain forever strong in every way her body could not. Unchanged.

Then she closed the distance between them. He lowered his eyes as he felt himself press between the slippery firmness of her gums . .

"EDWARD!"

"EDWARD!"

He jerked at the sound of his name being shouted. Afraid he'd hurt Bella's mouth, confused about how she could be holding him in it and yelling at him at the same time, he opened his eyes, an apology flying to his lips.

Bella's face was inches from his. Her hands were clutching his upper arms, her fingers digging into his biceps as she shook him. She drew in a deep breath but blew it out when she realized he'd opened his eyes.

"Edward, where were you? I swear, it was like you were asleep! Do vampires have daydreams? Were you daydreaming? Edward? Why are you looking at me like that? Edward! What are you-"

Edward didn't answer. Bella heard him whisper, "Happy eighteenth birthday, Bella." The next sound she heard was her own startled cry as he pulled her against his chest and sank his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck.


End file.
